For Better Or For Worse
by katiealice49
Summary: Spoilers for series 6!
1. Chapter 1

**Name: For Better Or For Worse**

**Summary: I'm not going to write a summary just yet. WARNING - SPOILERS FOR SEASON 6.**

**Set in the Timeline of...: Series 6. The first line is actually from episode 6.9 when Adam is holding Ben up against the wall in the safe-house and Harry says, "For better or for worse; Mr Kaplan is now on our side of this equation." **

**Disclaimer: Anything/anyone you recognise from "Spooks/MI-5" unfortunately do not belong to me. They belong to the BBC and Kudos.**

**Author's Notes: It's probably better if you've seen episode 6.9 therefore you'd know the initial plot and who David Field is. However, my story is going to change the plot from the line of, "For better or for worse; Mr Kaplan is now on our side of this equation." So, yeah, it's going to be a different plot. Expect some surprises. And yep, I will be using a lot of artistic licence. **

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"For better or for worse; Mr Kaplan is now on our side of this equation."

She steps out of the shadows and waits rather impatiently for her presence to be realised, her arms are crossed and leafy green eyes, brimmed with eyeliner, glare straight at Ben Kaplan, for he is the only one looking her way.

She smirks when recognition takes over his entire face, and as the other turn to look in the direction of his sight, she states, "And I am too."

Moments pass without anyone speaking. The only sound heard is Ben sighing when Adam lets go of him – Adam is shocked, Ben is relieved, and the woman with leafy green eyes is almost irritated. She would have loved to see Adam smash Ben's face in.

Hearing no reply she continues, "David Field is trying to kill all of Harry's team, and by that he means the whole team, no exceptions."

"Even the apparently dead ones." Harry replies, feeling slightly dazed. He's trying to comprehend how the woman he watched die, just three weeks ago, could be standing in the same room as him, looking the same as she always did, with her hair colour as the only difference in her appearance.

Checking to see if he isn't just hallucinating, for that would be a more reasonable explanation to her being there, Harry examines everyone else's reactions. They all seem to be in shock, no more so than himself. He observes Malcolm's brow deepening, and, from years of close friendship, he knows this means that his genius brain is working through all the possibilities of how this phenomenon could of happened. Malcolm's eyes still hold a look of utter shock nevertheless, as if his thoughtful brain hasn't yet connected to his expression. Looking towards his two existing field agents though, Adam and Jo seem to be more confused than shocked at the arrival of an ostensibly dead woman. His eyes flick back to woman as she speaks again.

The woman knows his reply is a statement rather than a question, but feels inclined to answer anyway, if only to confirm her actuality, "yes" she replies, her voice softening somewhat.

She sees the questioning in everyone's eyes, and when she looks towards Adam, she sees something more than questioning. She sees a hint a betrayal, almost anger for her coming back. Though she knows it isn't there for her physically coming back, but more for her putting herself in danger by her doing so.

It's at that moment that she realises she is going to have to explain herself to him, why on earth did she come back? And to everyone else, how did she come back? She really doesn't want to because in doing so she'd have to relive the memories and tell her dreadful tale, but she knows she will have to, she owes it to them in the least. Though she'd never admit it, she feels guilty for putting them all through the grief she knows they would have been through.

When Adam had told her at her own funeral to go and never look back, it was probably the first order she had actually obeyed and completed. Probably because she knew it would be the last thing he would tell her to do and so she had never looked back. With every step she took down the path through the cemetery, with every breath that loitered in the cold air, she fought the urge to look back. She would have given anything just to have one last glimpse at the colleagues, her closest friends, who she was leaving behind.

When she had returned to London, before coming to the safe-house, she had taken a walk to the cemetery. It was a nice cemetery, with flowers displayed at most graves. Being in the centre of London it was unexpectedly silent too, which allowed her to think more clearly. When she had reached her own gravesite, she had found a bouquet of Calla Lilies from Adam – he must have remembered that they were her favourite flowers; to her they were simple but elegant, reflecting the life she had always dreamt of. These were amid many other bouquets, delightful tributes to her life.

A slight gasp interrupts everyone from their thoughts, "The Synthetic Tetrotetoxin that Adam wanted me to get in your bodyweight... I never thought... it actually worked?" Malcolm babbles, unaware that he is making no sense to anyone else.

Adam, however, does understand. He also knows that there is no need to reply; Malcolm has living proof in front of his very eyes.

"But if it worked, why come back? You were safe wherever you were... weren't you?" Malcolm continues.

The woman with leafy green eyes is silent for a moment, before she replies, "no".

This reply, however, isn't good enough. The team of Harry, Adam, Connie, Malcolm, Jo and Ben all want to know more; every single little detail.

"Ros?" Adam probes, hoping to get her to open up.

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**End of Chapter - Author's Notes: I hope you liked it! It's my first "Spooks" fanfic so I don't know if it's any good. Feedback please? Oh, and any prompts for my next chapter would be greatly appreciated.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Sorry for the long wait until this update, I'm not very good at quickly getting things down from my head into ideas that make sense.**

**So, this is more or less a filler chapter, basically a chapter that's setting the scene before the big explanation.**

**Please review when you've read! :) Ooh, and happy belated pancake day! It's a much better day than Valentine's!**

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_Two Weeks Before._

She doesn't notice her at first, her whole attire seemingly blending into the surroundings. She fits in. It's not as if Ros is looking for her either. Ros is merely filling the spaces in between when she has her dinner and when she goes to sleep. Walks in the park are her favourite pastime these days; she hasn't much else to do. She would find a job, but there is simply no need, the amount of money Adam had given her will keep her sufficient in funds for at least a few months.

Sitting down on a wooden bench, she scans the park. It's nothing like Hyde Park, it's much nicer. Pine trees are replaced by palms, and the sun is actually shining, the soft breeze making the air all the warmer.

That's when she sees her, by the lake. She's carrying a shopping bag, walking at quite a brisk pace, her head down as if tracking a path. Hence as to why she walks straight into a standing man. Her head shoots up and she blushes as she brushes her loose hair behind her ears. Now Ros is certain it's her. The man and the woman speak for a moment or two and Ros observes her smiling when a young boy comes running up to the man.

_Typical Ruth_, Ros muses.

She watches as the young boy tugs at the man's arm, who smiles at Ruth apologetically. He then hands Ruth a small piece of paper, and if Ros was a betting woman, she'd put money on what was written on it. They say their goodbyes and he walks away, rubbing his son's short hair affectionately. Ruth is left staring at the paper.

With twelve hasty strides, Ros crosses the park.

"+357 235892, Ruth, he's impulsive."

The familiar voice makes Ruth tense, as does the use of her real name, "It's not what you think Ros, he seems nice, that's all."

Ros holds her hands up defensively as Ruth turns around, "There's no need to explain. You just must have a thing for men with children."

This sets Ruth on edge, "What do you mean, children? Are you trying to, I mean, Ros, why say such a thing, it's not like..." she trails off.

_Harry has children._

They're silent for a moment, Ros' penetrating eyes staring straight at Ruth. Ruth's looking anywhere, at anything, except Ros.

Sighing, Ruth finally gives in, "What are you doing here, Ros?" she asks, exasperation apparent in her tone of voice.

Before speaking, Ros desperately tries to sort out all her jumbled reasons in her mind. It's almost relaxing; analysing them, categorizing them, recycling the junk, filing the needed. If she closed her eyes it could almost be like she was back on the Grid, almost.

"I screwed up, Ruth." She whispers hoarsely, successively suppressing the lump in her throat that was beginning to form.

Luckily for Ros, Ruth always had loved to help a friend in need. No matter what state the person, or animal, depending on the circumstances, was in, Ruth had loved to comfort them. It was in her nature.

_Ros? A friend? _Ruth pauses._ In need?_

She reprimands herself. Ros had certainly never been a friend. She was the enemy at first, an admittedly unintentional MI6 rogue agent who would have gone to prison had Adam not recruited her so suddenly into MI5.

- - - - - - -

"_Sometimes you have to destroy the haystack to find the needle."_

"_And sometimes you have to stop hiding behind metaphors."_

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No, she and Ros had certainly never been friends.

And Ros being in need? Ruth had to smile slightly at that. Ruth found it hard to imagine the words 'Ros' and 'being vulnerable' or 'in need' ever being in the same paragraph, never mind the same sentence, especially being in referral with each other.

One simple command is all that is needed to make Ros crumble, "Come on, sit down and tell me about it, I'm not going anywhere." Ruth declares haphazardly.

Ros doesn't know why she could no longer contain her emotions. Probably because, after all she'd done, someone still had time for her. To listen to her, maybe even show her that they care.

She smiles lazily at Ruth, one hand swiftly wiping away any evidence of any tear leakages

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The café they choose is located in a quiet back street, away from the busyness of the inner city. Ros sits, apprehensively toying with the peach linen table cloth, whilst Ruth orders them both drinks.

The woman behind the counter is petite and has a wide smile. She pleasantly launches into small-talk, which Ruth would have normally been happy to maintain if she had not had other things on her mind. She orders the drinks; a skinny latte with banana sprinkles for herself and a cup of tea for Ros.

"Milk and sugar in the tea?" the woman asks.

Ruth glances over at Ros before looking back to the woman, "No, thanks." She guesses that Ros probably likes her tea in contrast to her personality – bitter.

"Oh, could you add a bit of scotch to the tea though, please?" she asks, hoping that Ros would covertly appreciate the gesture.

The woman smiles and nods, suddenly not feeling the desire to ask if there is a problem; the two women being served don't appear as if they are encountering 'everyday' struggles.

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"But then how come you're here, I'm not, I don't" Ruth frowns slightly, trying frantically to get her words out in the right order, "It doesn't make sense if you're here talking to me now. You should be, well, dead?" she pauses again, wishing that Ros would explain. But when the silence turns slightly awkward as Ros continually stares blankly at Ruth, she resumes, "So the Synthetic Tetrotetoxin worked?"

Ros smiles thinly at Ruth, having known she would have realized how the inconceivable had happened.

Ruth takes a sip of her latte, wondering how the woman sitting opposite her could get herself out of the most problematic situations with ease.

"So that's why you changed your hair colour." Ruth states, slowly swirling the silver spoon around the last of her latte.

Twisting a strand of her now red hair, Ros raises her eyebrows as if to verify this detail.

"Exactly. And the reason I'm here, still with you, is because Mace somehow knows I'm alive. And knowing him, he probably knows you are too."


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry for the long wait, yet again. My only excuse is that I've been on holiday. And again, that I'm extremely slow at getting my ideas into sentences that make any sense.**

**Credits to Chloe (Nittles) for 'The Present Day' and the first Ruth paragraph. I got quite stuck with the first Ruth paragraph especially as she isn't a character who I particularly like, but as Chloe does, she offered to help. She did a great job of it too, if I say so myself. **

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_The Present Day._

"So Ruth's back in the UK?" Harry chokes, eyes fixated on Ros', no longer fidgeting with the cassette tape lying on the table.

Ros nods slowly before noticing Harry's eyes beginning to well up with unshed tears. Desperate for Harry to keep his composure, she presses on.

"Yes, she's back, but there's more to this than meets the eye, and I need feelings to be put aside for now."

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_One Week, Two Days Before._

Ros had been right, of course. But just how quick Mace's people are to find them, she had not foreseen.

Wednesday morning comes rushing in with a faint breeze, picking up auburn leaves and scattering dropped litter. A few birds' sail with the zephyr, letting it push them into the midst of the city, where they land among the minority of the early waken.

To their misfortune, some land upon the path of which a certain woman walks down, her eyes intently staring straight ahead. She doesn't stop however, or divert her route as the birds flock around her, startling many others. It's the birds that step away as Ros strides past, briefly glancing at the soiled covers hanging loosely over the many stalls.

It's market day in Nicosia, so the grimy streets prepare themselves for the tourists who will inevitably come. Plain signs are immediately replaced for bright, appealing equivalents, as to attract the crowds. Though their effects don't succeed with Ros, who turns a blind eye to her surroundings, her mind constantly at work.

This is until her eyes narrow, her head slants and she physically has to stop herself.

_Bloody hell, Ros, you stupid, stupid woman, _she chastises herself. Realising she cannot be Ros anymore, she has to be Sarah.

_Sarah Marshall. _

And Sarah Marshall would like to browse through the stalls; she may even be tempted to buy one of the overpriced items. Ros smiles as she picks up a grapefruit, the stall keeper cheerily addressing her. She could get used to playing her counterpart. Almost.

Out of the corner of her eye a man stands upright in a phone box, his back rigid against the glass exterior. His fleeting backward glances unnoticeable to others, to people like Sarah Marshall, but to Ros' trained eye, he's deemed utterly suspicious.

This along with the cooing brunette, whose body turns towards Ros by the excuse of a toddler in a pristine pram, brings Ros sharply back into work mode, her body tensing.

The stall keeper looks up as a grapefruit rests in his hand, the giver already gone.

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The first coherent thought that comes to mind when Ruth wakes is how small the room is. She squints painfully as her eyes frantically try to focus on her surroundings. The light pours through the cheap nylon curtains, and on a good day, Ruth might have had remembered that her hotel didn't have cheap nylon curtains, they had blinds, and this most certainly wasn't her room. As her eyes finally adjust to the light, she groans loudly before stretching her muscles. She's numb, she feels different, the room feels different, but after a brief moment of indecision she decides that this is her motel room. It's her bag in the corner, and it's her coat that she can just about make out hanging from the door opposite. This is her room, yet something feels strange, unwelcome. Something's out of place. As she tries to shake her brain out of its fog induced state, she moves her arms from where they're idly positioned above her head so she can rub the remnants of sleep from her eye. As she finally snaps out of her stirring state, panic begins to spread across her features as she realises she's unable to move. Her arms are fixed into position above her head; her feet are fixed into position, each resting on either side of the bed. She's undressed and vulnerable. _This is not her room_. And the shadow that's lingering by the door isn't of anybody she recognises.

"I know Harry found your fidgeting endearing, but there's no need to go overboard Ruth."

Ruth stops trying to free herself abruptly when she registers who that vile, low growl belongs too. _Mace. _He pauses a moment, enjoying the feeling of knowing she's completely at his mercy. Harry's name had certainly got her attention; there's certainly no harm in exploiting this advantage.

"It's just a shame your knight in shining armour isn't here to save you this time."

She doesn't say a word as Mace emerges from the shadows and crawls on to the bed. She knows what is coming next. She just hopes Ros will find her.

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Sliding into a narrow gap in the wall of the adjacent alleyway from the street, Ros curses under her breath. It's bad enough that someone has the nerve to disrupt her new so-called life, but the fact that she has no means of a weapon makes it all the worse. She had to pick the only spot in the whole damn city that was actually clean too, meaning any blood that may be shed would quite obviously be seen.

She shrinks further into the shadows when rapid footsteps can be heard passing by. Her sharp hearing also picks up reversing footsteps. The thugs are evidently cleverer than she estimated them to be.

"_You take the back way; I'll be fine on my own."_

The male thug does his best to whisper but a slight snicker is apparent in his tone of voice.

He underestimates Ros.

As soon as his female companion turns her back and heads off to make her way to the opposite entrance to the alleyway, Ros steps out of the alcove.

Using her slight frame to her advantage, she stands portraying a timid façade.

Her eyes defy her.

The thin slits reveal bright oculus', contrasting to her near black irises. Ever menacing and focused on the young thug's movements, they expose her hidden agenda.

Fortunately her attacker isn't as observant as herself and misses this fine detail; an unfortunate mishap for him.

With two prompt strides she's before him, curving her leg round his and kicking back to ensure he's face down on the floor. She crouches down beside him, running her slim fingers through his hair before yanking his head upwards to look at her. It's her smile that's deceiving, the bright sparkle in her eye; she's enjoying this.

"Speak."

Her voice is so quiet that at first he thinks he imagined it, but the expectancy of an answer that hangs in the air tells him he didn't.

Instead he bites down hard, savouring the foamy taste of the cyanide until he feels nothing; sees nothing; hears nothing. Ros stretches her hand out and sighs slightly when small tarmac stones mix with the foam as his head hits the ground.

It isn't long before the female thug sprints around the corner.

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"Well, I was going to let George run an undercover operation with you for a couple of months, maybe even years." He pauses slightly, letting his breath tickle her neck, "but this is so much more fun."

He feels her cringe beneath him, shifting her body so that it's as far away from him as possible. The way her eyes had lifted to meet his when he'd mentioned George though, told him that she at least knew the name, if not where she knew it from.

"Yes, George, you know him don't you? Tanned, tall, adequately handsome; though not to my taste. You have met him, Ruth, only yesterday. For an ex-member of MI-5 you'd think that you would be able to remember him." a pause, "Especially as he gave you his telephone number."

She opens her mouth as if to speak but is firmly stopped by his hand used as a clamp. She's only going to be allowed to speak if he wants her to.

"Now, Ruth, don't be rude and let me speak. I was rather annoyed with the way you and Harry Pearce got past me the last time. It isn't going to happen again Ruth. Harry Pearce is going to go down once and for all. Won't it be smashing that you'll be the one to help me do it?"

"Go to hell." She spits.

"Well, since you asked so nicely. I believe it's time to test out your loyalty."

She barely has time to scream when his callused hand skims down the surface of her abdomen, his motives clear.


End file.
